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RALPH THE HEIR
December, and be back at his own house before Christmas.
When Christmas was over, the other Ralph was to leave Newton, — perhaps for ever.
The two Ralphs had become excellent friends, and when
the one that was to go declared his intention of going with
no intention of returning, the other pressed him warmly to
think better of it, and to look upon the Priory at any rate as
a second home. There were reasons why it could not be so,
said the namesake; but in the close confidence of friendship
which the giving and the declining of the offer generated
came this further blow. They were standing together leaning upon a gate, and looking at the exhumation of certain
vast roots, as to which the trees once belonging to them had
been made to fall in consequence of the improvements going
on at Darvell’s farm. “I don’t mind telling you,” said Ralph
the heir, “that I hope soon to have a mistress here.”
“And who is she?”
“That would be mere telling; — would it not?”
“Clarissa Underwood?” asked the unsuspecting Ralph.
There did come some prick of conscience, some qualm, of
an injury done, upon the young Squire as he made his answer.
“No; not Clarissa; — though she is the dearest, sweetest girl
that ever lived, and would make a better wife perhaps than
the girl I think of.”
“And who is the girl you think of?”
“She is to be found in the same house.”
“You do not mean the elder sister?” said the unfortunate
one. He had known well that his companion had not allud-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
ed to Patience Underwood; but in his agony he had suggested to himself that mode of escape.
“No; not Patience Underwood. Though, let me tell you,
a man might do worse than marry Patience Underwood. I have
always thought it a pity that Patience and Gregory would not
make a match of it. He, however, would fall in love with Clary,
and she has too much of the rake in her to give herself to
a parson. I was thinking of Mary Bonner, who, to my mind, is
the handsomest woman I ever saw in my life.”
“I think she is,” said Ralph, turning away his face.
“She hasn’t a farthing, I fancy,” continued the happy heir,
“but I don’t regard that now. A few months ago I had a mind to
marry for money; but it isn’t the sort of thing that any man
should do. I have almost made up my mind to ask her. Indeed,
when I tell you, I suppose I have quite made up my mind.”
“She’ll accept you, — of course.”
“I can say nothing about that, you know. A man must take
his chance. I can offer her a fine position, and a girl, I think,
should have some regard to money when she marries, though
a man should not. If there’s nobody before me I should have
a chance, I suppose.”
His words were not boastful, but there was a tone of triumph in his voice. And why should he not triumph? thought
the other Ralph. Of course he would triumph. He had everything to recommend him. And as for himself, — for him,
the dispossessed one, — any particle of a claim which he
might have secured by means of that former correspondence
had been withdrawn by his own subsequent words. “I dare say
she’ll take you,” he said, with his face still averted.
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RALPH THE HEIR
Ralph the heir did indeed think that he would be accepted, and he went on to discuss the circumstances of their
future home, almost as though Mary Bonner were already
employed in getting together her wedding garments. His companion said nothing further, and Ralph the heir did not discover that anything was amiss.
On the following day Ralph the heir went across the country to the Moonbeam in Buckinghamshire.
CHAPTER XXXVI
NEEFIT MEANS TO STICK TO IT
There was some business to be done as a matter of course
before the young Squire could have all his affairs properly
settled. There were debts to be paid, among which Mr. Neefit’s
stood certainly first. It was first in magnitude, and first in obligation; but it gave Ralph no manner of uneasiness. He had
really done his best to get Polly to marry him, and, luckily for
him, — by the direct interposition of some divine Providence,
as it now seemed to Ralph, — Polly had twice refused him.
It seemed to him, indeed, that divine Providence looked after him in a special way, breaking his uncle’s neck in the very
nick of time, and filling a breeches-maker’s daughter’s mind
with so sound a sense of the propriety of things, as to induce
her to decline the honour of being a millstone round his neck,
when positively the offer was pressed upon her. As things
stood there could be no difficulty with Mr. Neefit. The money
would be paid, of course, with all adjuncts of accruing interest, and Mr. Neefit should go on making breeches for him to
the end of the chapter. And for raising this money he had still
a remnant of the old property which he could sell, so that he
need not begin by laying an ounce of encumbrance on his pa-
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RALPH THE HEIR
ternal estates. He was very clear in his mind at this period of
his life that there should never be any such encumbrance in
his days. That remnant of property should be sold, and Neefit,
Horsball, and others, should be paid. But it certainly did occur to him in regard to Neefit, that there had been that between them which made it expedient that the matter should
be settled with some greater courtesy than would be shown by
a simple transaction through his man of business. Therefore
he wrote a few lines to Mr. Neefit on the day before he left
the Priory, — a few lines which he thought to be very civil.
Newton, 9th December, 186 — .
My dear Mr. Neefit, —
You have probably heard before this of the accident which
has happened in my family. My uncle has been killed by a fall
from his horse, and I have come into my property earlier than
I expected. As soon as I could begin to attend to matters of
business, I thought of my debt to you, and of all the obligation I owe you. I think the debt is £1,000; but whatever it is
it can be paid now. The money will be ready early in the year,
if that will do for you, — and I am very much obliged to you.
Would you mind letting Mr. Carey know how much it is, interest and all. He is our family lawyer.
Remember me very kindly to Miss Polly. I hope she will
always think of me as a friend. Would you tell Bawwah to put
three pairs of breeches in hand for me, — leather.
Yours very truly,
Ralph Newton.
The wrath of Mr. Neefit on receiving this letter at his
shop in Conduit Street was almost divine. He had heard
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
from Polly an account of that last interview at Ramsgate, and
Polly had told her story as truly as she knew how to tell it.
But the father had never for a moment allowed himself to
conceive that therefore the thing was at an end, and had instructed Polly that she was not to look upon it in that light.
He regarded his young customer as absolutely bound to him,
and would not acknowledge to himself that such obligation
could be annulled by Polly’s girlish folly. And he did believe that young Newton intended to act, as he called it, “on
the square.” So believing, he was ready to make almost any
sacrifice of himself; but that Newton should now go back, after having received his hard money, was to him a thing quite
out of the question. He scolded Polly with some violence, and
asked whether she wanted to marry such a lout as Moggs. Polly replied with spirit that she wouldn’t marry any man till she
found that she could love him, and that the man loved her.
“Ain’t he told you as he loves you ever so often?” said Neefit.
“I know what I’m doing of, father,” said Polly, “and I’m not
going to be drove.” Nevertheless Mr. Neefit had felt certain
that if young Newton would still act upon the square, things
would settle themselves rightly. There was the money due,
and, as Neefit constantly said to himself, “money was a thing
as was not to be got over.”
Then had come upon the tradesman the tidings of the old
Squire’s death. They were read to him out of a newspaper by
his shopman, Waddle. “I’m blessed if he ain’t been and tumbled all at once into his uncle’s shoes,” said Waddle. The paragraph in question was one which appeared in a weekly newspaper some two days after the Squire’s death. Neefit, who at
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RALPH THE HEIR
the moment was turning over the pages of his ledger, came
down from his desk and stood for about ten minutes in
the middle of his shop, while the Herr ceased from his cutting, and Waddle read the paragraph over and over again.
Neefit stood stock still, with his hands in his breeches pockets, and his great staring eyes fixed upon vacancy. “I’m blessed
if it ain’t true,” said Waddle, convinced by the repetition of
his own reading. News had previously reached the shop that
the Squire had had a fall. Tidings as to troubles in the hunting-field were quick in reaching Mr. Neefit’s shop; — but
there had been no idea that the accident would prove to be
fatal. Neefit, when he went home that night, told his wife and
daughter. “That will be the last of young Newton,” said Mrs.
Neefit. “I’m d — — if it will!” said the breeches-maker. Polly
maintained a discreet silence as to the heir, merely remarking
that it was very sad for the old gentleman. Polly at that time
was very full of admiration for Moggs, — in regard, that is, to
the political character of her lover. Moggs had lost his election, but was about to petition.
Neefit was never called upon, in the way of his own trade, to
make funereal garments. Men, when they are bereaved of their
friends, do not ride in black breeches. But he had all a tailor’s
respect for a customer with a dead relation. He felt that it
would not become him to make an application to the young
Squire on a subject connected with marriage, till the tombstone over the old Squire should have been properly adjusted.
He was a patient man, and could wait. And he was a man not
good at writing letters. His customer and future son-in-law
would turn up soon; or else, the expectant father-in-law might
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
drop down upon him at the Moonbeam or elsewhere. As for
a final escape, Polly Neefit’s father hardly feared that any
such attempt would be made. The young man had acted on
the square, and had made his offer in good faith.
Such was Mr. Neefit’s state of mind when he received
the young Squire’s letter. The letter almost knocked him
down. There was a decision about it, a confidence that all was
over between them except the necessary payment of the money, an absence of all doubt as to “Miss Polly,” which he could
not endure. And then that order for more breeches, included in the very same paragraph with Polly, was most injurious.
It must be owned that the letter was a cruel, heart-rending,
bad letter. For an hour or so it nearly broke Mr. Neefit’s heart.
But he resolved that he was not going to be done. The young
Squire should marry his daughter, or the whole transaction
should be published to the world. He would do such things
and say such things that the young Squire should certainly not
have a good time of it. He said not a word to Polly of the letter that night, but he did speak of the young Squire. “When
that young man comes again, Miss Polly,” he said, “I shall expect you to take him.”
“I don’t know anything about that, father,” said Polly. “He’s
had his answer, and I’m thinking he won’t ask for another.”
Upon this the breeches-maker looked at his daughter, but
made no other reply.
During the two or three following days Neefit made some
inquiries, and found that his customer was at the Moonbeam.
It was now necessary that he should go to work at once, and,
therefore, with many misgivings, he took Waddle into his con-
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RALPH THE HEIR
fidence. He could not himself write such a letter as then must
be written; — but Waddle was perfect at the writing of letters.
Waddle shrugged his shoulders, and clearly did not believe
that Polly would ever get the young Squire. Waddle indeed
went so far as to hint that his master would be lucky in obtaining payment of his money, — but, nevertheless, he gave
his mind to the writing of the letter. The letter was written as
follows: —
Conduit Street, 14th December, 186 — .
Dear Sir, —
Yours of the 9th instant has come to hand, and I beg to say
with compliments how shocked we were to hear of the Squire’s
accident. It was terribly sudden, and we all felt it very much;
as in the way of our business we very often have to.
As to the money that can stand. Between friends such things
needn’t be mentioned. Any accommodation of that kind was
and always will be ready when required. As to that other matter, a young gentleman like you won’t think that a young lady
is to be taken at her first word. A bargain is a bargain, and
honourable is honourable, which nobody knows as well as
you who was always disposed to be upon the square. Our Polly
hasn’t forgotten you, — and isn’t going.
It should be acknowledged on Mr. Waddle’s behalf,
that that last assurance was inserted by the unassisted energy of Mr. Neefit himself.
We shall expect to see you without delay, here or at Hendon, as may best suit; but pray remember that things stand just
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
as they was. Touching other matters, as needn’t be named here,
orders will be attended to as usual if given separate.
Yours very truly and obedient,
Thomas Neefit.
This letter duly reached the young Squire, and did not
add to his happiness at the Moonbeam. That he should ever renew his offer to Polly Neefit was, he well knew, out of the question; but he could see before him an infinity of trouble should
the breeches-maker be foolish enough to press him to do so.
He had acted “on the square.” In compliance with the bargain
undoubtedly made by him, he had twice proposed to Polly, and
had Polly accepted his offer on either of these occasions, there
would, — he now acknowledged to himself, — have been
very great difficulty in escaping from the difficulty. Polly had
thought fit to refuse him, and of course he was free. But, nevertheless, there might be trouble in store for him. He had hardly begun to ask himself in what way this trouble might next
show itself, when Neefit was at the Moonbeam. Three days after the receipt of his letter, when he rode into the Moonbeam
yard on his return from hunting, there was Mr. Neefit waiting to receive him.
He certainly had not answered Mr. Neefit’s letter, having
told himself that he might best do so by a personal visit in
Conduit Street; but now that Neefit was there, the personal
intercourse did not seem to him to be so easy. He greeted
the breeches-maker very warmly, while Pepper, Cox, and Mr.
Horsball, with sundry grooms and helpers, stood by and admired. Something of Mr. Neefit’s money, and of Polly’s charms
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